Characteristic of the early modern period was the idea of a new start for philosophy and the sciences. In the period, those who advocated for such a program were collectively called the novatores or “innovators.” This chapter traces the emergence and the complex posterity of this term. Though now considered positive, it was much contested in the period, and the novatores were involved in numerous polemical disputes. Tracing the origins, history, and use of the term gives us precious insights into the dynamics of the great transformation of philosophy usually designated by another polemical label—the Scientific Revolution.

Maimonides is one of the most radical defenders of apophaticism, the view according to which no positive attribute can be truthfully applied to God, and that God is consequently ineffable. His apophatic theology has several important dimensions, and it is in the Guide for the Perplexed that he offers the most elaborate account of his views.

The introduction shows the importance of the theme of the critique of language in the Renaissance and early-modern times, placing particular emphasis on its philosophical importance.

This chapter studies Locke’s critique of scholastic language, but since this “learned gibberish” is, for Locke, only one form of insignificant speech, the chapter then proceeds to discuss his views about the requirements for significant speech and the remedies proposed in case these requirements are not met. Locke’s answer contains elements that, at first sight, cannot be reconciled with each other so easily: his linguistic thesis according to which words as arbitrary signs are imposed by the mind on its ideas has a mentalistic and even solipsistic ring to it, yet communication is a social activity, governed by rules, customs, and conventions. The chapter therefore ends by looking in more detail at the social dimension of language to see how the social world shapes our apparently private minds. It concludes that for Locke the mind is a social entity, embedded in social and linguistic practices that shape our views of the world and give expression to them. The social world is built on the ideas we receive and construct, and common linguistic usage, for all its imperfections, is essential in framing and conveying these ideas.

This chapter studies Lorenzo Valla’s critique of the language and thought of the scholastics. Valla contrasts classical Latin, as a natural, common language, with the so-called artificial, technical, and unnatural language of his opponents. He famously champions Quintilian’s view that one should follow common linguistic usage. Scholars, however, have disagreed about the precise interpretation of these qualifications of Latin. This chapter argues that, depending on the historical, rhetorical, and argumentative contexts, Valla uses notions such as common and natural in different ways to suit different purposes. After an examination of Valla’s notion of common linguistic usage, which is shown to refer mainly (though not always) to classical Latin, the chapter analyzes Valla’s Dialectical Disputations, which attacks metaphysical and logical concepts from Aristotelian philosophy. It is shown that Valla combines two levels of criticism: scholastic Latin is ungrammatical and it is unnatural. To make both points Valla moves between a strictly Latinate point of view, and a sociological perspective according to which use of language should follow the rules and conventions of the community. The chapter argues that this leads to a tension in Valla’s humanist project concerning Latin as a common language and the notion of the common people.

This chapter studies Hobbes’s use of common language not only in his attacks on the “insignificant speech” of the scholastics but also in the definitions of his own philosophy. Thomas Hobbes was a careful observer of linguistic usage, appealing often to “what we are used to say.” But he does not accept “common usage” in any simple way. Like so many of his contemporaries, Hobbes was ambivalent about common language. As a move in his polemical invectives against scholastic language, Hobbes chose the side of “the people” who used language in a “natural” and “common” way. But common language also reflected patterns of thinking that Hobbes found deeply disturbing. Since for Hobbes everything hinges on the right understanding of words and well-explained definitions, he often claims to have common language at his side, yet we also find him subtly redefining terms to match his own philosophical views. The chapter explores Hobbes’s balancing act of revising ordinary language while playing down the revising act itself. In the last section the chapter suggests that the revision of common usage is part of Hobbes’s wider tactic to persuade the people that his civil science comes close to what every reasonable person should endorse.

In this chapter two early critics of scholastic language are discussed: Petrarch and Leonardo Bruni. For Petrarch the revival of ancient Latin was an essential part of the moral, religious, and cultural reform of the late-medieval society in which he lived. As this chapter makes clear, this fundamentally humanist conviction also led to some tensions in Petrarch’s vision: Christian faith was difficult to combine with the pagan thought of Cicero, and even though Petrarch greatly admired the latter’s style, it was not always compatible with Petrarch’s own need for inner dialogue and meditation. Petrach’s rejection of scholastic language was further developed by Bruni in his criticisms of the medieval translation of Aristotle’s Ethics, and Bruni later developed his view in his treatise on the art of translation. The chapter analyzes the debate between Bruni and his critics, showing that both sides made valuable points about the use and abuse of philosophical language. As the debate makes clear, words such as “precise,” “exact,” and “faithful” as applied to translations are normative rather than descriptive terms, and there is no straightforward yardstick of fidelity. What is at stake is a discussion about the trade-off between popular accessibility and philosophical precision.

This chapter discusses the critique of scholastic language and philosophy by the Renaissance philosopher and medical writer Francisco Sanches, whose That Nothing Is Known is widely regarded as one of the most systematic expositions of philosophical skepticism produced in the sixteenth century. As this chapter shows, language plays an important role in Sanches’s critique: Aristotelian science does not pay attention to things or facts but is a merely verbal game. Appealing to “what most people say,” Sanches seems to endorse the common language as alternative to the technical terminology of the philosophers. Yet, his skeptical attitude prevents a wholesale endorsement. The chapter then examines Sanches’s critique of two Aristotelian definitions of knowledge. While scholars have attempted to locate Sanches’s discussion of perception and knowledge in the context of late-medieval discussions, the chapter makes clear that Sanches’s position is that of a Renaissance skeptic. He shared the humanists’ utter disdain for what they thought was abstract wordplay, but while their critique of Aristotelian dialectic was part of an educational, didactic project that aimed to transform the traditional trivial arts, bringing dialectic more in line with how people actually speak and argue, Sanches’s goal was to undermine certainty and absolute truth.

Chapter Six analyses the De Justa Reipublicae Christianae Authoritate (1590) of the pseudonymous ‘Guiliemus Rossaeus’ to demonstrate how a deep analysis of the relationship between natural and divine law, in scholastic terms, was used to justify the deposition and assassination of Henri III. Rossaeus' rich engagement with Jesuit and Dominican casuistry, and the Thomist commentary tradition, made his rejection of heretic tyranny a question of individual conscience as well as of French heresy laws. This demonstrates that Leaguer analyses of papal power at this academic level were not simply a recapitulation of medieval ecclesiological debates but offered a fresh synthesis of the Thomist sources. Such theories were as much a contribution to European Catholic political-theological debate as they were an immediate polemical response to Henri III’s perceived tyranny.

This article concentrates on manifestations of medieval political philosophy in the Rose. It focuses on two crucial themes for understanding the foundations of political and social life: the origins of political community, private property and other social institutions; and the relationship between love and justice, and the political relevance of these two concepts. The article first discusses Jean de Meun’s view concerning the origins of social institutions, and relates it to Ciceronian and Augustinian traditions, which had a deep influence on medieval political philosophy. The main focus of the article is on the relation between Jean’s political ideas and medieval understanding of Aristotle’s political philosophy and moral psychology. It is argued that the political role of love and justice cannot be understood without taking medieval Aristotelian philosophy seriously. Instead of trying to find historical and textual connections between individual medieval philosophers and Jean’s poem, the article embraces a different methodological approach: it aims to understand the philosophy behind the poem. This aim is achieved by reading relevant passages against medieval adaptations of Aristotle’s practical philosophy. The article thus charts possible connections between scholasticism and the Rose and aims to show that they should be understood against thirteenth-century Aristotelian philosophy.

As shown in chapter 5, reception reveals its powerful translative attitude when considered as a transformative act. This is evident in the case of loose translations such as abridgments, which, through their own reception, are continuously transformed into new texts. The chapter thus offers a different insight into the ways in which Aristotle was read and adapted in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, particularly when his legacy is combined with the reception of other authors. Here I explore the vernacular afterlife of Luca Mannelli’s Latin Compendium moralis philosophiae (circa 1350) and the multifaceted transmission of Jacopo Campora’s vernacular dialogue De immortalitate anime (circa 1430). Both compendia were written by members of the Dominican order with typically scholastic backgrounds and were not particularly innovative in their philosophical content. However, their interest lies in the various ways in which they were disseminated, reshaped, repackaged and marketed. By tracing the transformation of the two works, the chapter documents the broad implications entailed by the proactive nature of vernacular reading practices in late medieval and Renaissance Italy.